


That Fateful Day

by mystery_deer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Meetings, Implied Relationships, M/M, also it's gay bc I'm gay but they're not there yet, bc I don't like Sherlock's characterization as kind of a jerk, dubious time period bc I can't commit, old timey sounding, so this is based more off of the original stories but also my interpretation of the characters, this isn't bbc sherlock or watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: On a dreary day in London, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson meet for the first time.





	That Fateful Day

John had been in awe of the man called Sherlock Holmes from the moment they were introduced. Stamford had been his bumbling self, smiling too wide and laughing too readily. It contrasted him to Holmes spectacularly. “You may call me Sherlock, if you wish.” He’d said, extending a long slender hand. John took it in his and for once he felt that despite his shorter stature, he was strong and capable. It had been awhile since he felt that. “Since we’re going to be living together.” 

Holmes’ flat was large compared to Watson’s room at the halfway house he’d been staying at but obscured by all manner of things. Half-finished chemistry experiments, books, loose papers, a mishmosh of furniture and piles of similar things like the boxes upon boxes of cigars and a row of teddy bears in various states of disrepair.   
“I apologize, it’s a bit messy. I’m in the middle of a case.” He said, clearing a path to what John assumed was his bedroom.   
“Oh? Do you mind me asking what-”  
“Not at all!” Sherlock exclaimed, clearly excited. “The case is a very interesting one, deceptively so. You see a young girl has lost her stuffed bear. It was taken from her in the night in an apparent robbery. She came here herself to alert me, knowing one of my irregulars.”

“I thought you were a detective, isn’t the case of a missing teddy bear a bit beneath your prowess?” Sherlock took John’s bag, which he was struggling with due to its weight, and smiled slightly. It made John’s face warm and he looked away to rub at his injured knee.   
“Every case, every mystery, every problem no matter how small it may seem is of interest to me. Otherwise I would become some manner of inspector or policeman.” He laughed at this and entered the bedroom which would become John’s the moment he stepped into it.

That evening they were enjoying tea together with biscuits, neither of them earning enough for the luxury of a proper dinner each night. Though Sherlock had been apologetic and said that as soon as they’d saved up enough he’d give John a feast as a celebration.   
“Shouldn’t you be saving up for rent instead?” He asked, burning his tongue. Sherlock looked perplexed, as if the matter of rent had never even entered his mind. 

“Oh, me and Mrs.Hudson are on very good terms. I’m sure she will be happy to give us an extension. Especially if we invite her to whatever feast we manage to get together.” John nodded and stirred more honey into his tea, the spoon clanking against the edge of the porcelain cup. When Sherlock did the same it was a silent motion, something that John noticed. He didn’t quite know why, he’d taken tea with many people and never noticed something like that before.   
“Why did you- I’m sorry, but would you tell me why you would be looking for a flatmate if you are such good friends with the landlady? If she would extend the time...wouldn’t she understand and lower the rent if you needed? Besides, it must be a help, having a detective in the building. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to lose that.” For the first time since their meeting Sherlock appeared hesitant, slowing his spoon and taking time away from his answering by cleaning and inspecting it. John was patient, had learned to be from a young age and after his stint in the military he could stay in one spot for hours, unmoving. Sherlock’s voice broke him from that thought. 

“The issue is less...economic and more personal. As you said, Mrs.Hudson is a friendly and gentle woman and would happily work out a rent arrangement that would be compatible with my sporadic pay.” He began rocking back in his chair, the motion jerky and John worried for a moment that he needed medical attention. He moved to stand but Sherlock stilled him with a ‘wait, please’ motion, so he sat back down and watched as the man opposite him continued the motion for a another minute or so before continuing. “You are an intelligent man doctor Watson, I knew that from the moment I saw you.”  
“Like you knew about my war history and that I had been boarding in a halfway house?”

“This was more of an emotional estimation than anything based on observable facts. You can never measure someone’s intellect on first glance but from the moment I saw you I thought you an intelligent man, you have kind eyes. I’ve had many companions who looked at me with many different eyes. Some adoring, some malicious. I’ve met many intelligent people who look at others with such ready superiority and scorn that it makes the heart sick. I despise such people, I detest the concept of superiority in intellect.” He rubbed his hands together rhythmically and slowly stilled his rocking motion until it was slow and methodical, apparently calming. “You don’t look like that.” he mused. “Even though you do look concerned for me, which I’m not sure what to make of.”

John, letting his drink go cold in his hands, tried his best not to look concerned. It made Sherlock laugh softly and in turn John smiled. He decided then and there that the liked this peculiar man, and wanted to stay by his side for a bit longer, as long as that proved itself to be.  
“Do you need help?” He asked. Sherlock closed his eyes for a bit and opened them again, he seemed tired suddenly, as if crashing from some sort of high. With all the chemicals strewn about that may be the case, though it was more likely that it was the dissipation of some sort of stress given his behaviour.   
“With…?”  
“With the case? Until I get steady work in medicine I would like to be of use to you.” 

Sherlock beamed, an expression which years later John would know the rarity of and thus the joy of seeing it. Now it brought the same hearty red glow to his face and pulled his own features into a mirroring grin.   
“I would like that. I look forward to working with you Watson.” He extended a hand towards John.   
“And I you, Holmes.” He took it.

Sherlock had been taken by the man called John Watson from the moment they were introduced. Stamford had been correct in his assertion that they’d get along, that John was a good man and a wonderful friend. He’d known a lot of things about Watson from the minute he laid eyes on him. He read him like a fascinating book, his history splattered across him clear as day. As he’d said his observations out loud Watson’s eyes widened in awe and surprise, his mouth opened slightly in shock, and Sherlock’s heart stammered though his tongue didn’t still. He knew a lot of things about Watson from the moment they met, but he didn’t know that years down the line he’d still be discovering more and more and more still about the man that had captured utterly his mind and heart since that fateful rainy London day.


End file.
